


The Man Who Sacrificed Forever

by Croanoke



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Delusions, M/M, Self Harm, Strong Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 11:15:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/710186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Croanoke/pseuds/Croanoke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A/U: After Season 8<br/>Castiel has fallen and he, Sam and Dean have retired in a small town in a house by the lake. Dean suffers from strange dreams at night, not quite nightmares, but every night they build up to form a distorted memory. Sam has changed, ever depressed with a near refusal to leave the house. Castiel is changing, slowly and surely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Man Who Sacrificed Forever

**Author's Note:**

> I know the obscene amounts of brain damage would really screw someone up, but this is a fanfic so just roll with it. Besides, when have we really ever applied logic to Supernatural?

                There was darkness, shrouding all light. All of Dean’s senses were gone, all except sound. All he heard was distortion, the _pop pop pop_ of rifles and screams of dying men and women. He could almost hear the splash of blood on the ground and surrounding people. He was a blind man listening to a horror movie.

                He was paralyzed, unable to do anything except listen. He couldn’t even think, the screams and shots were too loud for that. No matter how loud he screamed internally, the gun shots and the cries of rage and pain topped it every time.

                Lightly at first, Dean felt a pressing sensation along his left arm, by his shoulder. After a moment, it got harder, shaking Dean into awareness.

                The blackness dissolved, revealing a bedroom and an upset Castiel looming over him, worry flooding every line in his face, his taut muscles. Just seeing his face eased a bit of Dean’s distress.

                “Was it another nightmare?” the fallen angel asked, ready to help Dean in whatever way was best.

                “Uh, yeah, sort of. Saw a whole lot of nothin but heard a lot.” Dean answered, his voice raspy and gruff with sleep. He stretched his stiff muscles and sat up in bed, easing Castiel’s worry with a reassuring smile.

                “Do you want to talk about it?” Castiel asked cautiously, eyeing Dean.

                “Nothing to talk about. I heard some gun shots, a scream or two and that’s it. I don’t remember much.” Dean lied smoothly as he pulled the sheets off his body and climbed out of bed, Castiel following suit.

                “Oh, that’s good. After Hell, you’re nightmares were terrible. You must have just adjusted, then, after the apocalypse.” Castiel theorized. He followed down the staircase into the kitchen, where Sam had a pot of coffee on and was starting up on breakfast.

                “Yeah, guess so.” Dean muttered his delayed answer half heartedly. He grabbed a mug from a cabinet by the fridge and poured himself a cup of the steaming, fresh coffee.

                “What?” Sam asked, ears perking up as he flipped a few sunny side eggs.

                “Nothing, keep your giant ears away from my conversation.” Dean snapped before taking a drink of the bitter, thin coffee.

                Sam, pulling a bitch face, went and focused his attention back on breakfast, muttering under his breath.

                Castiel had taken a seat at the small, circular table at the edge of the kitchen, so Dean took a seat next to him.

                “You didn’t have to snap at Sam.” Castiel said as Dean sat down, the chair legs scarping against the old kitchen floor. They made a loud, whiny sound. Irritating to the ears.

                “I know, it was an accident. I’m a bit hung over.” Dean explained, which was partially the truth. Dean had a small headache in the back of head, but it was nothing to complain about.

                “Oh, you should take care of that then.” Castiel suggested, looking a bit relieved. He smiled at Dean, moving his hand to run his fingers through Dean’s messy, bed hair. The touch was light, barely even felt.

                “Yeah, if it’s not gone after breakfast I’ll take a Tylenol or something.” Dean assured, smiling lightly.

                “If it’s bothering you, don’t force yourself to sit through it.”

                “It’s fine, it doesn’t hurt all that bad.” Dean replied quickly, although he didn’t mind Castiel’s worry. It just reminded Dean that Castiel still cared, for now at least.

                “Okay, fine. I think Sam’s about done, do you want me to get your plate?” Castiel asked he rose from his seat, chair legs screeching.

                “You don’t have to handle two plates, I’ll get my own. I’m just hangover, not invalid.” Dean reminded Castiel teasingly.

                “I’m not hungry.” Castiel replied simply as he went to the stove and piled food on a plate.

                Castiel hadn’t been eating much. Even before he fell, he ate. He liked the taste of burgers, the only thing he did eat. But ever since that night, he hasn’t eaten anything, as far as Dean could tell. He must be eating, or else he wouldn’t be standing in the kitchen right now. He’d be six feet under with nothing but a cross to mark the grave.

                “Are you sure? You gotta eat, man.” Dean said, now being his turn to worry.

                “I’m perfectly capable of keeping myself alive. I’m fine, but you should eat. You skipped dinner last night.” Cas suggested, his tone vaguely hinting at a demand.

                “I’m eating, I’m eating.” Dean hurriedly said, raising his hand in defense.

                Sam still sat in the kitchen, leaning up against the counter and staring out the window, as if searching for something. He seemed stuck here; he didn’t leave all that often. He was always in the house doing who knows what, but he hardly left.

                “Sammy, you okay?” Dean asked. He pushed his plate away so he could rest his arm on the table, twisting in his seat to better see his brother.

                Sam woke from his thoughts, jerking away from the counter. He merely nodded at Dean, reassuring him with an easy smile.

                “I’m fine, just waiting.” He replied as he moved from the counter.

                “For what?” Cas asked, his head tilted in its signature way. His little head tilt was one of the things Dean loved most.

                “I don’t know. To leave? I haven’t gotten out much.” Sam replied, although his comment had a bite to it, a bitterness hidden under layers of ‘couldn’t care less’. His eyes trained on Dean for a moment before he looked away, back to doing his own thing.

                Dean ran a little shop out of his garage. It wasn’t a big, booming business. It was small, getting a few customers a week, simple. But it was enough to pay for bills and groceries. Normally, it was Dean who did all the work, took care of the cars, but every once in awhile Sam helped. But all he did was hand Dean tools. The only car Sam knew how to even remotely work on was the Impala.

                So during the afternoons Dean went out to the garage and worked on the cars he was being paid to fix. Usually it was something simple, fix a head or tail light or replace a plug. Luckily today was one of those easy days.

                After putting his toolbox away, Dean walked out to the center of the yard and leaned against the old, leafy tree that stood there. The lake was right in his front yard, a dock starting at the edge of the property and running for a few yards into the murky lake. Not many people came out to it; there were better places to spend a summer day. It was nice that way. Sam, Cas and himself all privacy, no unneeded contact from the outside.

                The tree’s bark felt rough against Dean’s bare arm, scratchy in a familiar and inviting way. The texture held a promise, something unknown but ready to be found out. It seemed like Dean already knew this secret, but time had blocked it out.

                As Dean moved away from the tree, his eye caught a dark spot on it, about head level. It wasn’t all too big, but noticeable. The spot was dark red, like dried blood. It looked fairly fresh. Maybe a bird had flown into it. But there were no bird carcasses to support this.

                Dean decided he’d ask Cas or Sam later, but right now it wasn’t all that important.

                The spot faded from Dean’s mind, it was nothing of importance. It didn’t hold any sort of significance, easily forgotten.

                Over the next several nights the dream he had escalated, grew like a reemerging memory.

                A battle scene, gore covering every surface of a densely wooded area. It was small battle between a small army of demons and an army of hunter of the same size. A new scream seemed to pierce the air every couple of second as humans were murdered or demons exorcised and splashed with holy water. After two nights this battle had been come to be recognized as the night Cas had fallen.

                No one seemed to stand out to Dean except Cas, Sam and Crowley. The other hunters were some who had caught wind of the battle or who been in the area. Garth wasn’t there, he was working a case, and Kevin was working on the tablets. He hadn’t even heard of the battle.

                Cas had finally broken free from Naomi’s control, but his punishment was to fall. He severed all his ties with heaven, with the angels in it, too. He lost his wings and his grace, he was human. And vulnerable.

                Dean hasn’t gotten farther into the memory than this.

                It was midday. The sun was filtering in through all the windows, casting a golden glow, and the house was quiet. Cas had fallen asleep, he hadn’t gotten much the night before. Sam was moping around in the living room, reading.

                Dean had been watching him these past couple of days, the silent observer. The more Dean looked at him, the more it seemed Sam was depressed. It was almost like he was trapped in this house, no choice of coming or going.

                Sam disappeared every now and then, but Dean never actually saw him leave or come back. He just vanished.

                “Sammy, you know you can leave, right? Go into town, something. You don’t have to keep yourself packed up in here.” Dean says as he walks into the living room, searching his brother’s face for something, anything, that could give him a clue to Sam’s odd behavior.

                For a moment, Dean thought Sam had scoffed or laughed, just barely. A small reaction, small enough that Dean began to believe that he imagined it.

                “It’s complicated. There just something I need to do before I can go anywhere.” Sam explained, closing his book and setting it down on the end table as he rose from his spot.

                “And what’s that?” Dean asked, a bit skeptical of what Sam was up to.

                “I’ve just got to find something.” Sam replied, making no move to elaborate. He left Dean in the room by himself as he ventured off to another part of the house.

                Letting out a lungful of air, Dean took a seat on the sofa and rested his head in his hands, his elbows on his knees. At moments like these, when Dean was alone, the house was too quiet, too dead. Being alone was such a rare occurrence and Dean grew to hate the moments when he was.

                To dissolve the silence, Dean grabbed the TV remote and flicked it on, letting the boring drone of the news fill the room. The weather forecast was on, telling of sunny skies and slight chance of rain over the weekend.

                Dean sat in the living room like that for a little while, watching the news without really comprehending what he was seeing or hearing.

                “Dean! Are you down there?” Cas called from the top of the stairs, his voice carrying down into the living room with clarity. Nothing, not the distance of the walls, seemed to distort Cas’ voice.

                “Yeah, I’m in the living room!” Dean called back, finally breaking his gaze from the TV. He heard the soft footsteps on the stairs as Cas made his way down, the rhythmic _thump thump thump_ easing Dean’s unease.

                “Did you finish that car today?” Cas asked as he took the empty seat beside Dean. He leaned against Dean’s arm, feeling almost weightless against the retired hunter.

                Dean remembered how Cas used to smell a bit like he imagined sunshine would smell, light and lemony. Even if he was covered in dirt or blood, that sunny scent still lingered. It was gone now, has been since he fell. Now there’s no scent on Cas’ skin, nothing except the scents of their little home. Wood, lake water, oil or cooking food. Nothing seemed to stick, though. It lasted for a few minutes before it faded and all Dean was left with was the nothing.

                “Yeah, it wasn’t much. The brakes were a bit fucked up but it’s all good.” Dean replied as a yawn left his mouth.  He stretched his tense muscles, his left arm reaching behind Cas’ shoulders and letting it rest there. Cas moved closer, laying his head on Dean’s shoulder.

                “That’s good.” Cas murmured sleepily as he snaked his arm around Dean’s waist. It was a touch Dean could barely feel, it was nothing more than air, ghostly. This lack of sensation scared Dean, the lack of scent, of everything Cas had come to lack over the past several years.

                The Castiel Dean had known was gone, the man he loved so dearly with every earth shattering second. Of course Dean still loved Cas, you can’t just stop loving someone, no matter how much they’ve changed. But the man who sat with him now, the one he woke up to every morning, the one he saw the day after the battle, was different than the one he initially fell in love with. He disappeared along with the grace that gave him the smell of sunshine.

                The dream was slowly progressing, the beginning becoming more vivid and the ending, the darkness, longer, but there was something missing, the middle. The dream just seemed to skip an entire scene, an important part. Dean saw all the gore of the fight, the sweaty men and women, the blood puddles on the mossy ground. But it just stopped abruptly, one minute Dean was observing the fight and the next he was blind and paralyzed, hearing everything but doing nothing.

                Truth be told, Dean didn’t want the middle. Whenever he thought about it a sinking feeling developed in the pit of his stomach, like whatever the middle brought pain would be included.

                Dean never talked about the dreams, Cas asked a few times but Dean smoothed it over with a lie. He was good at lying, he had to be. For all the hunting, the small lies he told his family, the acts he did to dance around uncomfortable situations. Lying was a big part of who he was, it wasn’t always a good thing.

                Like usual, Sam was moping in the living. It became his only activity, besides he vanishing acts. He wasn’t reading this time, just watching a Saturday morning cartoon. It was an old rerun of _Johnny Bravo_.

                “Do you have anything planned for the day?” Dean asked as he entered the living, leaning against the archway. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking from his brother to the TV.

                “Nope.” Sam snapped, his eyes narrowing in irritation. He turned away from Dean, angling his body so that Dean wasn’t in his line of sight.

                “What the hell is going on, Sam? You’ve been acting like a moody bitch for awhile now.” Dean nearly yelled, his frustration building. If he was holding something, he would have thrown it by now. Everything was spiraling out of control; Dean’s apple pie life was crumbling at the edges.

                “Yeah? You’re the one who can’t get over it! You hold on for dear life, refusing to open your eyes to what happened!” Sam screamed, standing up from his chair and turning to face Dean in one fluid motion. His hands were clenched at his sides tightly, his posture rigid. If he moved, it seemed as if he’d fall apart.

                “What are you talking about?” Dean asked, confusion wrinkling his brow.

                “Dean, just let me go. Let it all go.” Sam answered sadly, moving across the room, past and away from Dean.

                “What the fuck?” Dean whispered to himself after Sam had gone up the stairs, wondering if he should send Sam to a psychiatrist or just drop him off at a mental hospital.

                Dean debated whether or not he should go after Sam, but he decided on giving him time to himself, even if that’s what he constantly had.

                Slowly but surely, everything was falling apart.

                “Dean?”

                “Yeah, Cas?”

                “We should leave one day, get out of town and go somewhere, travel. Being cooped up here is fine and all, but sometimes I miss the adventure. Traveling without a clue where we were headed next, driving just to drive. It was one of the best feelings, having no plan or set goal. It was…”

                “Freedom?” Dean suggested as he traced pattering in the dirt by his feet.

                The two men were sitting on the bottom porch step, enjoying the dwindling daylight.

                “Yes, it was freedom.” Cas accepted, smiling with satisfaction to himself. There was wistful ease to his body today, he just seemed relaxed and comfortable. He was happy.

                “Maybe one day we can, later on in the summer or fall. Honestly, I miss the open road a bit too. But I just don’t feel like I can go again, the last time we were ever on the road was before you fell. After that we just bought this house and I never felt like I wanted to leave, I’m happy here with you and Sam.” Dean replied softly, looking forward at the lake. It was serene out there, nothing troubled the glassy water. No birds or people, not even a breeze to ripple the gentle water. It was like a photograph, so eerily still.

                “I understand. We don’t have to go, but it’d be nice to leave.”

                “Maybe one day, after Sam gets better and everything just settles back into place. Let’s make that a promise, okay? We’ll leave.” Dean said, his tone growing confident as he went on. He hasn’t thought about leaving all that much, never had the reason to. But if Castiel wanted it, he’d do it.

                “How often have I told you I love you?” Cas asked after a soft beat of silence. It was such a strange, random thing to bring up.

                “I don’t know, often enough. Why?” Dean asked, turning to glance over at Cas.

                “It seems I don’t say it much, or when I do it doesn’t seem real. Sometimes I don’t think I’m even real, that I’m just a piece of your mind projected into reality.”

                “What the hell made you think of that?” Dean asked, brief flash of concern vivid in his eyes.

                “I feel like it’s almost over, our time is nearly up.” Cas answered, shaking his head with an embarrassed smile reddening his cheeks. He brushed some hair from his face, letting out a lungful of air.

                “What makes you say that?”

                “Because you’re beginning to remember, and whenever you remember I leave for a little while and all of a sudden, everything’s back to normal as if nothing ever changed.” Cas explained, his tone suddenly weary.           

“Leave? You haven’t gone anywhere, Cas. What’s going on?”

                “You’ll find out soon enough, it always happens in week long increments and I believe our week is up.”

                With that simple, morbid statement being said, Cas stood up from his step seat and went back in the house without letting Dean get in a word.

                “What the hell?” Dean whispered, staring out at the lake. Everything seemed wrong, this wasn’t right. Nothing was right.

                The middle came to him that night, and Dean was right. It was much unwanted and littered with pain.

                It started the same, the battle, fighting Crowley and his army. All for the damn tablet, a fucking war for the Word of God. All of a sudden Cas falls, it’s like he’s throwing up light. He crashes to the ground, retching up light so bright it’s like a sea of white Holy Fire. It was unexpected, of course that’s what falling is, even if you planned it, it’s the most shocking thing in an angel’s long life.

                It’s happening so fast, Cas just laying there on the floor, weak and vulnerable. Dean knows what all those demons are thinking, the fallen angel is a perfect target, not to be feared. He can’t smite nor protect himself or others. Take him out, it’ll kill the rest of them.

                So, Dean runs after him, wanting to do everything in his power to protect him. That’s what Dean’s good for, isn’t it? Protecting those he loves; Sammy, Cas and countless others. Just because some of them eventually perished doesn’t mean Dean didn’t do a damn good job of keeping them alive as long as possible. 

                There just so many people and demons swarming the area. It’s difficult to rush past them, to get to Cas in time. But Sammy needs him to; Dean hears his brother’s screams as loud and shrill as church bells. He can hear the gargle of blood flooding his brother throat, which proves to be the ultimate distraction in saving Cas’ live. The simple heart wrenching sound creates the distraction that cost Cas his life.

                Just a mere second before Dean reaches him, a sneaky bastard of a demon comes from behind and rams his hand through Cas’ back, ripping his heart out in one fluid motion. Before Dean can react, a sharp pain hits him right by the eyes, blurring his vision and knocking him to the ground. He can’t see, he can’t move, but he can hear the sounds of the living, dying and dead. But overall, he can hear his anguish.

                They won that war, but what they lost was never spoken of again.

                When Dean woke up the next morning, he wanted nothing more to turn over and see Cas’ face, a reassuring smile. He was adamant to try and erase that memory of the dream from his head, the only thing he could stand to do was forget. But he couldn’t, that dreamed had seared itself into every corner of Dean’s mind.

                “Cas?” he called as he left the bed, leaving his room and traveling down the stairs. The house was silent, he couldn’t even hear Sam moving around.

                “Sam?” he called, listening for any little sound, footsteps, the TV, frying bacon.

                “Yeah?” he heard his brother call, sounding as if he were standing in the kitchen. Letting out a relieved sigh, Dean followed Sam’s voice and found him in the kitchen, standing by the cabinet.

                “Have you seen Cas?” he asked, worry veining the edge of his words.

                Sam let out a sigh, a weary and old sigh. He rubbed his eye with the back of his hand, not because he had to but because it was something to do to fill the motionless silence.

                “You remembered again, didn’t you?” Sam asked, his voice verging on hopeful.

                “Remembered? You mean that dream? Have I had it before?” Dean asked, his questions rushed together, one atop the other in a blur.

                “Yeah, time after time after time. They’re not dreams, though. It’s a suppressed memory you can’t, or won’t, accept.” Sam explained tensely. He just wanted to get this over, he’s done this so many times it’s become tedious.

                “But you’re here, Cas too.” Dean argued, backing up into the wall. He was confused and scared, two emotions that didn’t mix, no matter how many times you put them together.

                “No, Dean. I’m dead, I’m really dead. But you’re keeping me here. Your inability to move on or die is keeping me here. All I want is for you to be happy, and you creating these damn hallucinations keeps me here!” Sam shouted, his anger flaring like a heat wave.

                “But Cas…”

                “Is dead and in the land of eternal paradise. He’s in your head, which kills me because every day I hear you talking to no one, looking at no one with such hollow love, and outright fear in your eyes  and it kills me, Dean. He’s gone, long gone.” Sam explained, his tone lowering, but still having the same amount of pain and anger.

                “But when he talks to you…” Dean trailed, still unwilling to believe Cas was really gone. Dean’s been talking to him every day, just yesterday talking about getting away. But Cas also said their week was up…

                “It’s really you, asking me and talking in Cas’ place. Your mind sets up these false scenarios, over and over. Every week I deal with this, your remembering and then you self inflicted memory loss.”

                “Self inflicted?” Dean asked, trying to let these chaotic thoughts settling somewhere, soundly, in his head.

                “You ram your head against that tree out there till you pass out and when you wake up your mind’s screwed again. But if you still remember, you go back to smashing you head, anything that’ll let you see Cas again.

“You know, I’ve come to know you as the man who sacrificed forever to touch a memory. You refuse to die, you say you can’t do the act yourself so you’ll let nature take its course and then you’ll _really_ see Cas again.”

                “You touch things! You make breakfast, hand me tools, I see you all the time!” Dean exclaimed, believing he had the upper hand. That he was right.

                “I summon enough energy to do simple tasks and when I’m weak I disappear. Dean, I’m the one who cleans the obscene amount of blood from the tree trunk, which is a long and hard task. I’m the one who nudges you awake every week on the first morning, knowing it’ll be Cas you see when you wake. You need this delusion to go on and I’ve been feeding them to you.

                “This life isn’t good for either of us, Dean.  I’m miserable here, nearly as bad as Hell for me. I don’t belong here and you can’t live like this. So I’m begging you, let him go. Kill yourself, let him go, whatever, I just can’t handle this anymore.” Sam pleaded, his eyes begging and woeful. He was fidgeting, pacing with his hand to his forehead, taking deep breaths he didn’t need.

                “How long has it been like this?” Dean asked, his voice gruff and cracked. He didn’t want to accept this, but it was all too… _logical_ to not be true.

                “Five years, but I honestly think you’ll be better off up there, with me and Cas, instead of alone down here. So what do you say? Wanna die with me?” Sam asked, an ever ringing, newfound hope lighting his face and voice with ease. He held out his hand, gesturing for Dean to take it.

                “I can’t do it myself. It’s different going in on a suicide mission, but putting the knife to my own chest or the gun to my head is something new.” Dean argued, wiping tears from his eyes, rushing like down like a river. He didn’t Sam’s hand, so it dropped to his side again.

                “I haven’t told you before, we’ve never gotten this far, but I have Cas’ angel blade. I keep it in here. If you were to die by any weapon, I figured you’d want it to be Cas’.” Sam explained as he reached up into the cupboard, rummaging behind stacks of cups, brandishing a long silver blade.

                “You won’t make me do it, will you, Sammy?” Dean asked, his gaze fixed on his deceased lover’s weapon. It looked same as always, light bouncing off its silver edges in a celestial beauty. Dean remembers Cas holding that same blade, the way he looked so strong and noble with it in his hand.

                “No, I’ll do it.” Sam assured him with a weak, watery smile.

                Dean nodded once, wiping the final rushing tear from his eye. He let out a deep sigh, pointing at the spot directly in the center of his heart. He sucked in a lungful of air as Sam laid the blade in the correct alignment, pressing lightly. The pressure felt like a thumb tack sticking to his skin.

                “Now.” Dean gasped out, waiting for the inevitable burst of pain.

                With a final sigh of triumph, Sam pressed the blade in with such skill and ease, as if he’d practiced the motion a thousand times before. Knowing his misery, Sam probably did practice, on meat or other materials of the like, just so the task would be done as quickly as possible. He didn’t want Dean to suffer for longer than he had to.

                The pain in Dean’s chest was sharp and quick, gone as quickly as it came. He seemed to fall out of his body as his body fell to the ground. He could feel nothing; he was just air and light.

Once he was righted, Dean looked around the room, his true memories filtering into his repaired mind.

                He saw all the mornings he spent alone at the table, talking to no one, with Sam watching wearily in the background. He saw the empty air he gestured to and laughed with, a feeling of complete foolishness rushing into his mind.

                “ _Dean_.” A wispy, ethereal voice called, radiating from everywhere. It came from the ceiling, the walls and the ground. It was everywhere and anywhere.

                Dean looked around, trying to find the source of the soft, comforting voice, but he found nothing but a warm, brightly glowing golden light. It whispered to him, although it wasn’t exactly the voice’s source, more like its mouth. It vocalized the word, the simple, familiar word.

                “Sam, do you hear that?” Dean asked, his head whipping to meet his brother’s warm eyes.

                “What?” Sam asked, his brow crinkling. He made a step forward, careful not to disturb Dean’s still body.

                “A voice. It said my name.” Dean explained, careful not to pull his gaze away from the golden light.

                “I don’t hear anything. What’s it saying?”

                “It said my name, once, but it was definitely my name. What about that light, you see that?” Dean asked, gesturing forward. Sam looked, seeing nothing, so he shook his head. He had an idea of what it was, though. Something only Dean could see, something meant for only him.

                “ _I’ve been waiting_.” The voice said, becoming clearer to Dean’s ears. It sounded like a voice he hasn’t truly heard in a long time.

                Softly at first, a familiar scent wafted into the room, tingling Dean’s senses. Lemons.

                “Cas?” Dean asked the light, his eyes wandering along the room as if the fallen angel had hidden somewhere, in a cupboard or the broom closet. It seemed probable, given the amount of knowledge Dean has been given and has recovered.

                “ _Hello, Dean_.”

                Castiel was there; materialized right outside the heavenly glow, trench coat in place and warm, inviting smile on his features. His blue eyes were alive, crashing and swishing together like the deep ocean’s waves. He was faintly visible, the light was shining right through him, but Dean knew it was truly and forever Cas, the one and only. No delusions, just plain Cas.

                “Is that for me?” Dean croaked, pointing at himself as he stared in awe at the other man, trying to not to choke on laughter and joy.

                Cas simply nodded, his warm smile being the motivation Dean needed to take Cas’ hand and step through the unearthly portal, without even saying a word to Sam. He knew he’d see him in a moment.

                The light faded, the warmth and positivity it brought disappearing with it.

                Sam looked down at the floor once the light went out, seeing Dean’s lifeless body. The angel blade was still stuck in his chest, as if it were pinning him to the ground. His blood pooled around him, looking something like spilled paint or tinted chocolate sauce.

                If he could cry, Sam swore he would start at the moment. He was free, after all these years he could finally move on. Finally, after all this time he could leave this world of suffering and be with his brother, who was now mended and whole, and Cas, who died far too soon. He didn’t have to linger here, watching and waiting for his brother to get better, to recover from his delusions. He didn’t have to pretend every week that nothing was wrong or broken.

                Finally, after all these years, Sam could be happy.

                Like the wind seeping through the window, Sam faded into oblivion, a ghostly smile lingering on his handsome face.

               

               

               

               

               

               

               

               

                


End file.
